Body of War
by Lif61
Summary: Thinking that Sam is sick, Dean decides to work on a case alone, leaving Sam to battle with his hallucinations.


**A/N: This one-shot contains rape. And yes, I know, you're probably all like, "Another one-shot? What about her multi-chapter stories? What about her requests?" I promise I will get to those. Sometimes my head just decides to write something as an exploration into an aspect of the characters, so there's just not as much planning involved and I write them a lot quicker. I wrote this one-shot mostly because I wanted to explore the fact that Sam probably hates his body. And honestly, I'm just giving this explanation about how I write most of my one-shots because I love all of you who are reading my multi-chapter stories and I don't want you to worry about them.**

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Sam woke up to Lucifer's hands on his body, which was no surprise, really. Still, it made his heart climb up into his throat, which was constricting from fear. He did his best to ignore him, keeping his eyes closed. It must've been a bit later in the morning; he could hear Dean as he moved about the room, getting ready for the day.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his arm, and he propped himself up, his eyes suddenly wide.

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Dean soothed. "It's just me."

Sam fought the urge to look behind him as Lucifer's cold hand trailed up his back underneath his shirt. He tensed his muscles against a sudden shiver and goosebumps rose up along his skin.

His brother took notice, frowning at him with concern.

"You okay? You don't look so good. If you want I can go talk to the vic alone."

Sam blinked a few times, trying to properly orient himself, and he sat up.

"No, I'm fine."

Dean straightened and narrowed his eyes at him, even crossing his arms over his chest like a disapproving mother.

"Mm hm."

"Really."

This time he couldn't do anything against the shiver that ran through him as Lucifer rested his weight against him, looping an arm around his shoulders. His hungry mouth found his ear. Sam swallowed roughly, and glanced aside, hoping Dean wouldn't see the terror in his eyes. He didn't want his brother worrying about him like this, didn't want him to try and take care of him.

 _I'm fine. I have to be._

"You're not fine, Sam," the Devil whispered, "and you know it. Why not just tell big brother the truth? Let him know all the _awful_ things I've been doing to you lately." He chuckled. "Wonder what he'd say if he found out his little brother was my bitch."

Sam clenched his jaw, wanting to respond to his hallucination, but he held it in. Talking to Lucifer, whether real or not, always made things worse, so he kept quiet. Besides, he had to seem like he was okay.

Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief as he informed him, " _You_ were tossing and turning all night, you're pale, you've got bags under your eyes, you're freaking shivering, and I'm willing to bet that if I took your temperature you'd have a fever." Sam didn't say anything, so Dean continued, "You look like crap. Maybe you should just sit this one out."

Sam tried to get to his feet, to show that he really was fine, tried with all his might, but Lucifer held him firmly in place.

"Not getting away that easy, Sam," he breathed, a curious hand playing at the hem of his shirt. "I have a few _ideas_ of what to do with you while Dean has you on bed rest."

Sam tried to shrug Lucifer off of him, but he held tight. Dean noticed, but he seemed to take it as it being another chill.

"Just lie back down. I'll get you a glass of water before I go."

Giving in to defeat, Sam lowered his head and nodded. Maybe on other days he'd try harder. But today he just couldn't. He didn't have it in him.

Dean pat him on the shoulder, making Sam flinch a little, but he went with the movement, lying back down.

Sam closed his eyes again, _trying_ to maybe catch up on some sleep he'd missed, but he was acutely aware of Lucifer slipping his hand under the waistband of his pants and possessively caressing his thigh. A moan of despair nearly left him when his touch sent an unwanted flicker of pleasure through his nerves. His breath hitched as that hand moved up to the curve of his hip. Surprisingly, his touch remained gentle for now.

Sam lost all sense of what Dean was doing to get ready for the day as Satan pressed himself against him, his hand now teasingly trailing across his lower abdomen and pelvis. Sam's stomach clenched.

"I wish he would just leave already," Lucifer murmured. "I mean, I could take you here and now, make Dean wonder what the hell is going on, but…" He paused before continuing in a lower voice, "I feel like having you all to myself today."

It took everything Sam had to not suddenly cry out and ask Dean to stay. Dean had work to do. Important work. Work that could save lives. If Sam had to suffer in order for that to happen, then so be it.

He was vaguely aware of a glass of water being placed by his bed, and then the door closed a few seconds after. Sam's throat ached and the corners of his eyes stung with unshed tears.

A growl left Lucifer and his leg was suddenly on him, over him, holding Sam against his body. That put the dark angel's hips right up against his ass, and his stomach rolled with nausea at the realization that he was hard.

"Relax, Sam," he breathed. "I'm not going to hurt you."

A snarky reply came to mind, but he held it back.

"Come on," the Devil groaned, slowly grinding himself against him, "talk to me. I don't want to fuck someone who doesn't even react."

He did react, just not verbally. He couldn't help it. Satan's touch was just so revolting. Sam arched himself away from him, and in kind, the Devil let out a dark laugh and wrapped his arm around him, pulling him back. He hooked his leg around his, rutting up against him with more force. Sam trembled and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Say something," he pleaded in a gravelly voice. "Sammy, you know I like talking to you. Remember all the great conversations we had in the Cage? Please, I miss that."

A small smile curled Sam's lips; it was strangely satisfying having Lucifer begging. Sometimes in the Cage, on days where Lucifer's sexual desires overtook everything else, overtook his anger, his frustration, his sadistic nature, he would beg for Sam. The pleas hadn't been for Sam to cooperate, or for him to lie still. They'd been for Sam to take him and have his way with him. Those days were always really odd because then Lucifer would play all his cards, using fancy words and deceiving touches to manipulate him. Shame colored his cheeks red as he remembered that it'd usually worked. At least this type of begging was different. Part of Sam found it pathetic and he was pleased with that.

Not wanting to give Lucifer the satisfaction, he didn't say anything.

"Fine," he growled into his ear. "I'll get you to use your voice, at least."

And then he was lifting up Sam's shirt, feeling over the muscled expanse of his torso. His muscles receded from his touch of their own accord, but desire still sparked through him. He swallowed roughly and kept his mouth shut, condemning himself to the Devil's frigid, exploring hands.

Heat rose up in him as his cold fingers played at his nipple. Sam's body was confused by the sensations that granted him with and tried to arch away, which made him press back against him. Lucifer groaned, nipping at his ear. And then he was pushing his hair aside, his mouth roaming over the side of his neck. Sam shuddered, ice running through his blood, battling the heat still building, condensing in his lower abdomen and the base of his spine.

He didn't try to fight him, knew that he couldn't, knew that Lucifer would get satisfaction out of it. But that didn't make it any easier when his desperate touch went to his hips, rolling him over onto his back. Lucifer lifted himself up, his eyes closing blissfully as he pressed himself against his thigh. He started tugging on Sam's pants.

And still Sam didn't fight. Lucifer liked when he reacted, liked when he got involved with the experience. Part of Sam hated himself for lying there uselessly as the Devil took his clothes off, for only turning away when he undressed himself. But this wasn't wanting it, this wasn't accepting. This was its own kind of battle. One he had to win.

His upper lip trembled as Lucifer took to him with abandon, climbing on top of him, his open mouth sucking on his skin. He licked and kissed too, his teeth grazing him every so often. Sam hated it, but his body loved it, trembling beneath him and arching into his touch. He held his breath against a growl as Lucifer leaned over and latched onto his nipple. The dark angel was breathing heavily with anticipation as his hands ran over his body with a firm, nearly painful grip, and his hips were still moving, his erect manhood rubbing against Sam's own, which the stimulation was now making rapidly harden.

Desire, unwanted and horrific, wove its way through Sam's traitorous body, and he found himself gripping the sheets with shaking hands, his mouth dropping open. A moan left Lucifer and he got his teeth involved with what he was doing, hurting him. But it felt good too. Heat curled through him like steam, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as Lucifer took ahold of his now-hardened cock, his touch causing him to ache. That ache stabbed up into his stomach, turning itself into need, hot and yearning.

Usually Lucifer liked to talk a lot, even while ruining him, but he seemed set on using his mouth for other things. He wanted to mark him, to pleasure him, to hurt him. His sinuous, predatory movements atop him spoke of a deeply embedded need, of want, of desperation. Today he just wanted Sam, and he just wanted to hear his voice. Each movement, each touch was driven by that lust, and it was terrifying to be beneath him, to be on the receiving end of such a strong focus. As Lucifer made his way down his body, Sam shuddered, closing his eyes and turning his head away.

He knew if he looked down he might just end up making eye contact with Lucifer, and the last thing he needed was having to face the fact that that heavy, dangerous gaze was on him.

A groan left Sam as Satan trailed his tongue up along the underside of his cock. It twitched, pleasure whispering through him, and he wanted nothing more in that moment than death. Lucifer eagerly licked him again, and again, and again. His body was burning from the contact, from the primal wish for _more_. More. His body just wanted more, the desire raging and insatiable. Sam trembled, fighting with himself to not arch into this deliciously teasing touch, to not lose and use his voice again, louder this time, simply because he was being taunted. Noticing his reaction, Lucifer kept at it, alternating between slow licks up his hardened length and quick flicks of his tongue. For now, Sam's body didn't even care that his tongue was forked. It wanted it to touch all of him.

Eventually, a shuddering moan was torn from him, and it rose in pitch to a whine as Lucifer sucked just beneath the head of his cock. A tear trailed its way into his hair which was already becoming damp with sweat, and Sam tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore the way heat rose up into his cheeks, tried to ignore the growing urge to stab himself. Tried to ignore how much he hated himself, how much he hated everything.

But hearing his voice from him like that wasn't enough of a victory for Lucifer. He kept sucking at him, one finger lightly trailing along his searing flesh. A strange jolt of pressure shot through Sam, and his hips arched upwards as his cock began to leak precum. Lucifer used the weight of his body to hold him down as he pulled back and spread his precum along the head of his cock with his thumb. Sam's body seemed to throb from that and a loud groan left him as he tossed his head back. Lucifer just kept teasing him like that, keeping his touch light and precise. And he was merciless about it, pulling Sam's voice from him, his body straining against his.

He felt feverish, his breaths coming in shuddering, hitching gasps, his voice leaking into each exhale. Sam had already lost, but it still pained him even further to admit to himself that his body craved the Devil. He had to fight to remain still as Lucifer set to running his hands all along his body, but he was now ignoring his aching and impossibly hard cock. Pleasure erupted beneath his skin in tingles, intertwining itself with need and coiling through his heaving body, as Lucifer's touch became firm, possessive, painful. He used his mouth too, favoring his teeth, and Sam couldn't fight as he arched into his touch. And he hated himself, hated himself even more than he hated the dark angel that was violating him.

Sam cried out and arched away in surprise when the Devil bit the inner part of his thigh. His balls lifted and tightened, and a needy, yet terrified growl left Sam. Lucifer did the same to his other thigh, and he bit hard. He grabbed his hips, holding him down as he began to gnaw at him. A shout made its way up out of Sam's chest before he could do anything to stop himself. He held the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Oh god, this hurt, but there was no mistaking the heat that sparked up in between his legs. The gnawing turned into licking, and this time he wasn't so precise. His hands went beneath him, kneading his ass, widening his legs. Sam couldn't even get himself to react properly, couldn't even fight. He was too lost in mortifying shame, and raw hatred and need.

Satan's tongue went everywhere, over his swollen balls, beneath them, delving into him. His asshole throbbed as his hungry ministrations made pleasure stab through his body. Sam's stomach quivered with excitement as Lucifer exposed his opening even more and then spit into him. And then a thick finger was working its way inside. Lost in a dark, heavy haze of want, Sam's hips came forward, bucking into him, pushing his finger deeper.

A dreadful moan left Lucifer as he continued to work on widening him, one that spoke of a purely mental kind of pleasure. He was pleased with Sam, pleased at how his body was betraying him, pleased by his voice. And he was hungry. So very hungry. Sam could feel it in the way his lips pressed against his skin, feel it in the way he forcefully scissored his fingers inside of him, feel it in the bruising grip he had against his bare flesh. Sam's muscles contracted around him with their own kind of yearning. Lucifer hadn't yet given his prostate any attention, but he had a feeling that that was intentional. The evil son of a bitch knew exactly where it was. He'd made sure of that in the early days in the Cage, mapping out every single sensitive area of him so that he could hurt him and make him even more rightfully his.

God, Sam hated his body. He hated having a body. Maybe life would be better if he was just a mental entity of some sort. No hunger, no thirst, no exhaustion, no pain, and best of all, no pleasure. Pleasure and sex were weapons, torture devices, and they hurt more than anything else Lucifer had used on him. He just didn't want anyone to touch him like this.

But that didn't stop the Devil from rolling Sam onto his side, didn't stop him from wrapping his arms around him to hold him in place, didn't stop him from lining himself up at his throbbing entrance. And it didn't stop Sam from accidently leaning into his touch, from letting out a deep groan, from craving this just as much as he despised it.

He hated every second of Lucifer penetrating him, hated it so deeply a dark shadow seemed to fall over his soul. And he was unable to do anything but hold onto the Devil, digging his nails into his forearms, as he filled and stretched him. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it was just too much. He didn't enjoy having him in him like this, didn't like that Lucifer was gaining pleasure by using his body. And the way it _felt_ … Having someone inside of him, having an archangel - _Satan_ \- inside of him was so wrong and horrific that it was nauseating. He didn't want to feel his hard, fleshy, and sickeningly cold manhood take up space in his body. Sam didn't give a damn that his sole purpose for existing was for Lucifer to be inside of him. This just wasn't right.

But he couldn't cry, couldn't give him that satisfaction. And besides, his legs were too busy widening of their own accord so Lucifer could slip one leg in between them, his nerves were too busy burning from everywhere their skin touched, and his entire physical being was too busy pleading for him to go deeper, even when he was so deep it was frightening. The head of his cock brushed his prostate and Sam cried out, throwing his head back. That exposed his neck, and Lucifer took advantage of that, running a hand over his sensitive skin, making his pulse skip a few beats. He didn't choke him, but Sam knew that was only a matter of time.

His thrusts were hard and measured, and he gnawed at whatever bit of skin he could reach as he took him, grunts of exertion leaving him. Sam was helpless as this dark angel ravished him, helpless as he staked his claim on him once more. All he could was hold on for fear of losing himself.

Liquid fire was searing its way through his nerves, pounding into him as if he was being molded into a shape that Lucifer saw fit, becoming whatever he wanted him to be. The bed was the anvil, and the Devil was the hammer. And Sam burned and ached.

Yet his body wanted more. Always more.

Having won this battle quite some time ago, Lucifer sought only satisfaction for himself, riding Sam for all he was worth and more. Yet this wasn't Satan celebrating a victory. Each movement was the start of a new battle, the continuation of a war, and Sam lost with every moan and curse and shout that tumbled past his lips, lost with every twitch of his cock, lost with every throb of his body, with every beat of his heart. Sam lost and he continued losing. Death would be the only victory for him, but at this point, no honorable death awaited him. Lucifer had ripped out and crushed his honor into oblivion a long time ago, leaving Sam as nothing but a helpless and broken shell of himself.

He was nothing but his body and his pain and the Devil's bitch. Nothing but a vessel, meant to be used and broken and taken and claimed and utterly consumed and destroyed. And ruined. His purpose in life was to be ruined, tarnished and tainted beyond hope of saving.

When Lucifer came inside of him, the battles ended, and he was ruined even further, poison and thick, choking smoke filling him, making his blood boil at the same time it tried to freeze over.

And Sam's traitorous, terrible, pathetic body reached completion from it, pleasure burning through the destruction of the ravaged battlefield till all he saw was white light, till he _hurt_ from how much he felt.

He tried to scream, to somehow do _something_ with his agony, but that was when the Devil started choking him, robbing him of even his voice, not even letting Sam wallow in his defeat.

Each second lasted forever, and then the fires died down, leaving Sam in the aftermath of the destruction, with the despairing knowledge that he'd lost, that all hope was futile. The Devil had won, and he would always win. It didn't matter that he was a hallucination because the way he felt, the way his _body_ felt, with pleasure still clouding his senses, was very real.

But Dean would come back, and he'd never know. He'd never know how much Sam wanted to die, how much he hated himself, how much he wanted to tear his soul from himself and exist purely as that.

Lucifer pulled out of him and murmured, "Do you think Dean will be gone long? My appetite isn't quite sated."

And the war continued.


End file.
